


Virtuoso

by WulfenOne



Series: Butterflies With Angel Wings [25]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 02:06:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12738825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WulfenOne/pseuds/WulfenOne
Summary: Rebecca Braddock has come to an important romantic milestone in her young life, so she decides to seek some sage advice from her favourite X-Men as to how to deal with it.





	Virtuoso

I put down my violin, and Remy claps appreciatively, before looking thoughtfully at the notes he had made while I was playing. "Good, Rebecca – very good," he says in an encouraging tone of voice. "You're definitely getting better, _cherie_ – that sounded much more relaxed, _non_?" Then he picks up his own violin and starts to play a short sequence of music, letting the gentle, lilting sound fill the small room where he and I are having our daily practice. "There," he says after he has finished. "Try that."

After my (slightly less accomplished) version of the music, Remy nods, tapping his pencil against his lower lip for a moment. "You're still letting your fingers wander a little," he says. "Try to make sure they hit the strings exactly where you want them to go, rather than just putting them somewhere close. It'll really make a difference – trust me."

"I don't know about that," I say, letting my exasperation though into my voice despite my best efforts. "Is it always this hard to learn music?"

"Well, Rebecca, it took me ten years of practice to get to the level I'm at today," Remy replies. "I wasn't nearly as good as you are after only six months of lessons – could barely get out a tune, let alone play as well as you can." He winks at me. "So you wanna call it a day for now?"

"I think that's a great idea," I agree, opening my violin's case and putting my instrument inside it, closing the lid with a satisfying degree of finality. He holds the door open for me, and we walk out of the music room together. Outside, sunlight streams through the mansion's windows, creating long strands of light in which dust motes float gently, tossed here and there by the gentle air currents in the hallway. Through one of the windows, I can see a few of the X-Men enjoying a rare day off by relaxing around the lake – Mum and Dad are splashing happily in the shallows with my little brother, and I can feel their happy thoughts drifting up here as if they've been carried on a breeze. Meanwhile, Scott and Jean are swimming in the deeper waters, and Sam is practicing his driving of the Shi'Ar water-skimmer (and to be honest, he really needs to). Seeing Mum and Dad so happy with Tom brings something to the front of my mind – something that's been affecting me for a little while now, so I decide to ask Gambit about it, just to get it out in the open. "Um, Remy, can I ask you a question?" I ask, a hesitant tone surfacing in my voice.

Remy stops in his tracks, looks at me curiously, and then says "Sure you got the right person for advice? Ol' Remy ain't exactly a role model, you know?" His stubbly face cracks into a roguish grin, mischief glittering in his red-on-black eyes for a moment. "Got a reputation to stick to."

"Well, I…" My voice trails off for a moment, sticking in my throat like a thorn before I manage to get my thoughts together. "I just need someone to talk to about... um... what was it like the first time you had sex?"

For a moment, Remy is speechless, his mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out. Then he takes a deep breath and rubs his hands over his eyes quickly. "Oh, _merde_ ," he says simply. "Look, _cherie_ … if this is about what it's like to be with a boy for the first time, you're asking the wrong guy –"

I shake my head quickly, keen to dissolve that idea. "No, Remy, it's not just about what it's like to be with a guy specifically – I just… I just want to know what to expect."

"You talked to Sam about this?" Remy asks, sounding uncharacteristically concerned. "Think he has a right to know, don't you?"

"No, not yet," I say. "I just need some advice, that's all. I was going to talk to Mum and Dad about it, but –"

Remy laughs, despite himself. "Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you, Rebecca," he says. "That's really not a good idea."

That makes me a little confused. "Why not? I thought parents were supposed to be the people you could talk to about anything?"

Remy raises his eyebrows, and takes another deep breath. "I'll explain when we get to the kitchen. I think I'll need that coffee…" We walk down the back stairs and make our way to the small kitchen, where Remy brews himself a pot of coffee and pours a cupful for each of us. Taking a sip of his drink, he says "So you want to know why talking to your mom and dad isn't a good idea?"

"Yes, please," I reply. Somehow this whole situation seems to be a lot more complicated than I'd imagined. Of course, all I've got to go on about sex is the information Sinister put into my head, and that's not exactly focused on the emotional side of things. I can tell anybody how many zygotes there are in a cell, and I can narrate each stage of the reproductive cycle with my eyes closed, but this? This is all completely alien to me, and it's getting more so by the minute.

"It's like this: parents know their kids are going to be having sex someday," Remy begins, "but they don't want to _know_ their kids are going to be having sex someday, you follow me?"

"Not really," I say, feeling a little bewildered (sometimes, even telepathy doesn't help me understand the way some people talk). Remy laughs kindly, and takes one of my hands in his, as if that one simple gesture could completely reassure me. It doesn't – but it's a start, I suppose.

"Put it this way – you know your parents have had sex, right?" he asks. I nod, and he continues "You know they've had sex, or you wouldn't have a baby brother. But you don't want to imagine them having sex, do you?"

An unbidden image of Mum and Dad making love hits the back of my eyeballs, like paint splashing against a wall. Remy must notice me shuddering, because he nods again, an understanding look crossing his face. "Yeah, I thought you'd react that way. See, Rebecca, parents think the same way about their kids' sex lives, only they get a lot more overprotective and weird. It's just one of those things you don't talk about."

"Okay," I say slowly, trying to digest what he's just said as best I can. "So… could you help me?"

"Well, that depends on what you want to know. I mean, I'm not exactly a world authority on this subject," Remy replies, taking another sip of his coffee, and reaching into the biscuit tin on the table with his free hand, bringing out a chocolate chip cookie and offering it to me. "You want a cookie first?" I nod, and take the oversized cookie from his hand before biting into it gratefully. As I do so, Remy picks out a cookie for himself, and takes a large section out of its side with his teeth. "Oh, _c'est bon_ ," he remarks, crumbs of cookie clinging briefly to his bristly chin before he wipes them away with a fingertip. "I gotta find out where Jean buys these things." Then he looks up at me again and says "So what else did you want to know?"

"Is it normal to worry this much?" I say, deciding to make my biggest concern the first thing I mention.

Remy nods. "'Fraid so,  _cherie_  – just the way life works. Then again, I wouldn't worry too much, either, or you'll never get anywhere. It's all about getting the balance right, you know?"

"I… guess so," I say, still feeling just a little bit confused, but also getting a slightly better sense of what this whole situation is going to require. "Thanks."

"No problem," Remy says, smiling. "You made a good choice with Sam, Rebecca – he's a nice kid. Ain't got a bad bone in his body."

"Thank you, Remy," I say again, before finishing my coffee in a single gulp. "It's nice to know somebody else appreciates Sam as much as I do. He's… he's my best friend."

"That's always a good start," Remy agrees. He leans over then, and puts his arms around me gently, his thick cologne almost stinging my eyeballs. "You'll be fine, Rebecca."

"I promise," I reply, returning Remy's hug gratefully. It's nice to have had at least some of my worries put to rest, after all. "I don't really want to end up pregnant; I saw what it did to Mum, and I don't want to go down the same route as she did – not now, anyway."

"Good girl," Remy says, smiling his handsome smile again. "That's what I like to hear. I'd hate for your mom to blame me for you getting a bun in the oven, after all…"

Remy and I sit and talk for about another half an hour, chatting about things other than what we'd just been discussing, and then I leave the kitchen and find the lift down to Beast's lab. Hopefully he'll be able to give me a second opinion on what's been bothering me. It's not that I don't trust Remy's advice – not in the slightest – but I would love to get another person's views on this, since it feels so daunting, and Hank seems like the ideal person to give that to me. Aside from Mum and Sam, he's my closest friend in the mansion, and it would mean a lot to me if he were able to give me a helping hand.

The lift comes to a stop at the bottom of the shaft and the doors hiss open quietly, revealing the sterile corridor that leads to the med-lab. Lining the walls are several old movie posters that I persuaded Hank to put up in order to make the place a little more appealing – among the posters on my right is one for  _GoodFellas_ , and on my left there is one for  _The Empire Strikes Back._  Hank wasn't too sure about it when I put the posters up – but I guess he didn't mind in the end, seeing as he left them up.

Cautiously, I knock on the door to the med-lab and say "Hank? Can I come in?" When Hank hears my voice, he turns away from his work bench and puts down his goggles so that he can put his glasses back on his nose.

"Greetings and salutations, young Braddock," he says, a big, toothy smile cracking his blue-furred face almost in half. "What brings you down here? Usually I have to wait for you to get beaten up or sick for you to come and see me when I'm working." His smile fades a little, and a look of concern flashes over his features for a moment. "You're… not sick, are you?"

I shake my head. "No, Hank, I'm not sick. I just… need some advice, that's all."

"I… see," Hank says, adjusting his glasses slightly so that they rest a little more comfortably on the bridge of his nose. "What kind of advice would you like?"

"Well… I need some advice about sex," I say, hesitantly – perhaps even more hesitantly than I did to Gambit. When I've finished speaking, Beast looks like he's been hit by a freight train. His jaw hangs open slightly, until he remembers to close it.

"Oh my stars and garters," he says simply. "You haven't –"

"No, I haven't – not yet, anyway," I say, knowing what he's going to say before he says it. "I just need somebody to talk to about it, that's all. I asked Remy upstairs, but I wanted your opinion as well… so here I am."

"Well, then, I suppose I should consider myself honoured," Hank smiles. "What would you like to know?" He pauses. "I presume Remy told you to use protection? If he didn't –"

"Relax, Hank – he told me," I tell him, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. "Even if he hadn't, I still would've used it, just to be safe." Pausing, I adjust a button on the sleeve of my blouse and then take a deep breath. "I really love Sam, Hank, and I want to show him that, but… I don't know. Should I wait until I'm older?"

"Should you?" Hank replies, giving me a quizzical look from behind his glasses. "You're the best judge of whether or not you should wait, Rebecca. Do you feel completely ready for this kind of commitment?"

"Well,  _I_  do, but I don't know if my  _body_  does," I say. "I mean, physically I'm not even three years old yet, Hank – how's my body going react to sex?"

Hank shakes his head. "I wouldn't worry about that, Rebecca," he tells me reassuringly. "I've run enough medical scans on you to write a book on the subject of accelerated growth, and I can tell you, without any shadow of a doubt, that you are as mature – both physically and mentally – as you will ever get. You ought to be absolutely fine; I'd bet my entire stash of Twinkies on it." He ruffles my hair gently, and winks. "Even if you aren't, you know I shall always relish the opportunity to talk to you down here. It's the highlight of my day." That makes me blush a little, my cheeks going hot and prickly involuntarily, and Hank's smile widens. "You're a beautiful, intelligent girl, Rebecca, and Sam is very lucky to have you. I should make sure he knows that as often as possible if I were you."

"Flatterer." I stick my tongue out briefly, and then give Hank my best smile. "Thanks, Hank. You've been a real help."

"I'm glad to hear it," Hank says, slotting a couple of blue pens into his lab coat's top pocket. "Are you going to talk to Sam soon? I think you ought to, you know; this is going to be a big step for him as well, after all."

"Yes," I agree softly, "Remy said pretty much the same thing."

"Good," Hank replies. "At least you're getting consistent advice – although I'd wager if you were to ask him about anything else, you'd get something completely different and altogether less constructive." He chuckles briefly. "I could definitely live without you taking up smoking, not shaving for weeks on end, and hitting on anything that moves, you know."

"You're a fine one to talk about not shaving, fuzzy," I retort, laughing, feeling the tension in my muscles easing itself out almost instantly.  _Thank you, Hank,_  I think.  _You always know exactly what to say, don't you?_  "Do you think I should go and talk to Sam now, or wait until this evening?"

"No time like the present," Hank says, shrugging. "Good luck, Rebecca. Remember, I shall be here if you need to talk again later. That does seem to be my role in your life, after all, doesn't it?" He chuckles. "Perhaps I should apply to be the agony uncle for the Daily Bugle?"

"Maybe you should – it'd pay better than being stuck down here all day, I bet," I say, leaning forward and putting my arms around Hank gently. "Keep your fingers crossed for me."

"I shall most certainly endeavour to try," Hank replies, returning my embrace warmly and tickling my face with his fur, "but I'm sure you know how tricky that can be when you're dealing with potentially explosive chemicals." Then he draws back from me and points to the ceiling of the med-lab with a clawed forefinger. "I think there's somebody up there who needs to talk to you more than I do, though, don't you? Go on. He's probably waiting for you." As I make my way to the door of the med-lab, he waves at me jovially. "Good girl. Let me know how it went, all right?"

"I will, Hank. Thanks again," I say, before leaving through the clear glass door and making my way to the lift at the end of the hall.  _This is it,_  I think to myself, with more than a small hint of apprehension. Better not screw this up…

I find Sam just outside his bedroom, clad in a simple shirt, jeans and trainers, his hair still wet from the shower he's obviously just taken. He waves to me as he sees me approaching, and as I get close, he catches me around the waist and lifts me off my feet, twirling around on the spot before kissing me hello. "Hi there, princess," he says softly. "Saved me the trouble of coming to look for you – I got tickets to go see _The King And I_ this weekend. You want to come with me?"

"Sure, Sam. Sure," I say, trying not to look or seem too distracted… and probably failing. I've never been good at hiding my emotions, and at times like this, it seems even harder. Sure enough, Sam picks up on my poor mood, and takes my hand in his gently.

"Hey… you okay, Bec?" he asks, inclining his head forwards slightly and raising his eyebrows curiously. "You ain't your usual sunny-side-up kinda self. Somethin' wrong?"

I exhale deeply, running my hands through my hair and then wiping them across my face. "Not… not exactly. I need to talk to you about something, Sam, and… I don't know how you're going to react."

A look of concern washes briefly over Sam's face then, and he turns back towards the door of his bedroom, turning the door handle and gesturing into the neatly-kept interior. "You'd better come in, then, I guess." He waits for me to walk past him, and then shuts the door, before offering me one of the simple wooden chairs that are stood by the small chest of drawers in the room's corner. "You could sit on the bed, too, if you wanted to," he tells me quietly, taking one of the chairs and flipping it around so that he can lean forward against the back rest. When I have seated myself on the edge of his bed, Sam says (a little apprehensively, it has to be said) "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Well, um…" I begin, nervously (more nervously than I've ever spoken before, I think). "I think you're really special, Sam. I've never met anyone like you, and I –"

"Oh, God…" Sam interrupts me hastily. "This is a break-up conversation, ain't it?"

"No! Oh, no, Sam, no," I shake my head vigorously, putting a finger to his lips as I do so. "This is nothing like that, I swear. What I'm trying to say is… is that… I want you… to be my first time."

Once I've spoken Sam looks like he's just been punched in the gut, and is unable to speak for several minutes after that. "Wow," he says, finally. "You mean 'first time' as in first time, first time?"

I can feel my cheeks burning, as if they're covered in hot pitch, and suddenly I'm just as speechless as Sam had been just now. "Yes," I whisper softly. "Is that… all right with you?"

"Completely," Sam smiles, relief flooding into his mind and across his face almost instantly. He shifts off his chair and comes to sit next to me on the bed, before he pulls me gently to him for a tension-shattering kiss. "God, you had me really scared there for a moment," he says as our lips part. "You really ought to practice these things in your head before you say them, you know."

"Well, excuse me, Sam – who was it who just said 'This is a break-up conversation, ain't it'?" I retort, laughing. "You're not exactly full of tact yourself, you know." I kiss him again, just to reassure myself that he's still there, and hasn't run away screaming, and then lay my head against his shoulder. Closing my eyes, I know there's no other place I'd rather be than right here...

* * *

 

Evening hangs heavy in the air outside Sam's window, the sounds of insects and the occasional hooting owl being all that comes from the outside world. Sam brings me a glass of champagne and offers it to me as I sit on the edge of his bed. "Just to get you in the mood," he says, almost sheepishly sitting down beside me. Clinking his glass against mine, he continues "To… uh… to crossing boundaries, I guess."

"To crossing boundaries," I agree softly, sipping the bubbling wine and feeling the alcohol lessen the shaking in my hands, just a little. When we have finished our drinks, Sam carefully puts the empty glasses down on the table beside his bed and eases himself closer to me, taking one of my hands in his.

"You sure you want to do this?" he asks softly, stroking my face with his free hand. "You say the word and we'll stop right here."

"Yes, I'm sure," I say, a firm edge to my voice as I lean into his palm gently, like a cat. "Just… kiss me, Sam."

* * *

 

Sam's hand clenches tightly around mine, his face contorting in exertion for a brief moment, and then the final moments of our lovemaking are over. Sam rolls onto his side of the bed then, his sweaty body glistening in the half-light of the crescent moon. He looks at me as I lie still, staying flat on my back, and says "Hey, pretty lady – you okay down there?"

"Yes," I breathe, softly, pushing myself up onto my elbows and gathering the covers of the bed over my breasts (although I'm not sure why. Sam  _did_  just see everything there is to see on me, after all). "More than okay." I lean over to kiss him exhaustedly, but he doesn't return it. I can sense growing horror at the front of his mind, and when I open my eyes, I can see why – the condom we used has a long split down the front of it, in just the wrong position.

"Must have been defective," Sam says, redundantly, before he punches the wall above the bed in frustration. A small pocket of his blast field erupts around his fingers, tearing out a chunk of plaster. "Damn it!" he cries, as chips of plaster scatter across the surface of the duvet. "I'm so sorry, Bec… I didn't mean for this to happen… I –"

"It's all right, Sam," I say, trying to be as calm as I can, trying to soothe his frustration by putting my arms around his waist and resting my chin on his shoulder. I can tell he sees this as a failure on his part, and one that he should have been able to fix. "I'm sure they can get me some… I don't know… morning-after pills at the doctor's surgery. It'll be all right."

_I hope._


End file.
